Mighty Max (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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maskormenacelogs2016-02-10 03:28 pm
crapbearer) wrote in maskormenacelogs2016-02-10 03:28 pm
freshly minted teenager on the loose
WHO: Max and YOU
WHERE: Anywhere!
WHEN: Month of February
WHAT: Catchall log!
WARNINGS: none yet!
--
A. ) The Streets of ANYWHERE
Max would never have said he liked it when The War was a looming threat, but it was certainly better than now. Before, it had simply been an unsettling background noise. But with the declaration from Russia still fresh in everyone's minds, Max could see its effect on the people he encountered. Shopkeepers seemed tense, the civilians seemed preoccupied, and the children playing on the street would actively talk about their parents' hushed whispers about the war — some would even approach ImPorts and just outright ask about what was going on.
The atmosphere was... tense. After coming back from Mexico, and after all the kidnapped ImPorts were home safe, everything seemed different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was enough to make him just a smidge more withdrawn than was normal for him.
Still, as he wanders the cities, satisfying his wanderlust, sipping his hot chocolate as he looks around, shops, and explores. Occasionally he might spot another ImPort and strike up a conversation.
"You know, I thought when the kidnapped ImPorts were brought back, things might get less tense, not more."
B. ) Museum of Folklore (Heropa, FL)
Around this time of year, most of the patrons to the museum were small kids on field trips, and that was fine. Max was excellent at the tour guide thing — there's a bit of a Jungle Cruise vibe to his rounds, with the jokes he'll sprinkle in with the education.
If someone were to catch Max here, it'd probably be mid-tour on a weekday afternoon, herding a bunch of small children and teachers along the exhibits, or just at the end of the tour when the kids were enthusiastically asking questions -- some of the time, anyway. Every so often there was a bunch that was bored and tired and wanted to go home.
Or if you're lucky enough to catch him with no tour groups around, he'll greet you with a grin and a wave. "Welcome to the Museum of Folklore!"
C. ) Wildcard! Whatever you want
WHERE: Anywhere!
WHEN: Month of February
WHAT: Catchall log!
WARNINGS: none yet!
--
A. ) The Streets of ANYWHERE
Max would never have said he liked it when The War was a looming threat, but it was certainly better than now. Before, it had simply been an unsettling background noise. But with the declaration from Russia still fresh in everyone's minds, Max could see its effect on the people he encountered. Shopkeepers seemed tense, the civilians seemed preoccupied, and the children playing on the street would actively talk about their parents' hushed whispers about the war — some would even approach ImPorts and just outright ask about what was going on.
The atmosphere was... tense. After coming back from Mexico, and after all the kidnapped ImPorts were home safe, everything seemed different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was enough to make him just a smidge more withdrawn than was normal for him.
Still, as he wanders the cities, satisfying his wanderlust, sipping his hot chocolate as he looks around, shops, and explores. Occasionally he might spot another ImPort and strike up a conversation.
"You know, I thought when the kidnapped ImPorts were brought back, things might get less tense, not more."
B. ) Museum of Folklore (Heropa, FL)
Around this time of year, most of the patrons to the museum were small kids on field trips, and that was fine. Max was excellent at the tour guide thing — there's a bit of a Jungle Cruise vibe to his rounds, with the jokes he'll sprinkle in with the education.
If someone were to catch Max here, it'd probably be mid-tour on a weekday afternoon, herding a bunch of small children and teachers along the exhibits, or just at the end of the tour when the kids were enthusiastically asking questions -- some of the time, anyway. Every so often there was a bunch that was bored and tired and wanted to go home.
Or if you're lucky enough to catch him with no tour groups around, he'll greet you with a grin and a wave. "Welcome to the Museum of Folklore!"
C. ) Wildcard! Whatever you want
B
"Hello! I promise I won't bother you for too long, but I wanted to inquire about one of your displays."
He's bright-eyed and armed with a notebook. It's not that he's really doing critical research here, but he's at that point where he needs to feel that he's being useful.
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"Hey, it's no bother at all!" Max says, glancing up at the stranger. "It's what I d—"
His sentence is cut off by a tiny squeak that quickly raises to a pitch only dogs can hear because holy shit it's Doc Brown.
Maybe it's not Doc Brown. Christopher Lloyd is in a lot of stuff, after all. Still, after a moment of stunned silence with his jaw hanging open, he collects himself and the grin returns. "I mean - sorry about that. Uh. Hi there, I'm Max! What was it you wanted to ask about?"
Act casual, Max. Act casual.
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"I'm interested in the lore closest to the modern day, he admits, though he has quite a bit of admiration for the ancient artifacts. "If there's anything that foreshadows this world's current crisis. It's a fair bit easier not to believe in the supernatural when you don't have people suddenly gaining impossible abilities."
There's a trace of irritation across his brow. He's still trying to figure out how the hell he gained those weird powers he's so reluctant to use.
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Still, he manages to focus on the task at hand — after all, myths and legends had always been his thing. He sure didn't keep this internship all these months by being bad at his job. Max drums his fingers on the welcome podium, looking thoughtful as he considers the man's question.
"I wouldn't exactly call it foreshadowing," he muses, pulling a program out from the podium and looking it over, "but I think I might have an answer for you, if you don't mind a bit of a tour. We can start here." He sets the program down and points to an exhibit on American Legends before stepping away and motioning for Doc to follow.
"So, do you, uh... research this sort of stuff often, or just kind of come here on a whim?"
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"I've always had an affinity for history, and I find that when thrown into a situation you know little about, the history books are usually the best place to start."
He takes in everything with wide eyes, very eager to hear what the guide has to say.
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Qubit and Max - during the Pan Plot
Max rarely had any reason to go near the pixie dust grove, but he had to be sure everything was taken care of. If he could set a trap or two here, he could make sure no one got anywhere close to defeating Pan.
But even as he laid out his plans in his head, looking over the land... the magic was slipping in, affecting him as it might anyone else. He could feel a weight building in his chest, cold slipping into his fingers, just the slightest hint of despair that he couldn't put into words.
The despair gave way to frustration as he started to lay his traps. Nothing seemed to be right. Even as he tried to tie the knot, old thoughts and feelings kept slipping in and throwing him off his game, until finally he just yelled and threw the whole thing down in a fit.
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But, just as Kaneda had warned him, Pan's illusion distorted space and direction, and despite their best efforts, people were constantly getting separated from the main group. And that was how Qubit came across the grove.
It was beautiful, bizarrely so. The leaves glistened in strange colors, and puffs of glittering faerie dust swirled between the branches and rippled over the ground like blowing snow. He could swear he heard the faint tingling of bells.
Under other circumstances, it might have tempted him to linger. But it was definitely a trap, no doubt some element of Peter's twisted playtime. Traipsing in there alone would just be dumb. Better to leave it for now, go around as best he could. Maybe come back with the group, once he found them again. Just as he was turning to go, though, he heard a cry from a familiar voice.
Max? Qubit stepped as close to the grove as he dared, until he caught a glimpse of the boy. What was he doing here? Did he even live in Heropa? Had he entered under his own volition, or been trapped like so many others? The latter seemed more likely - Max was a bold kid, but he wasn't an idiot. His heart sank, and only partly because of the spell. Hasn't he been through enough?
... Nothing for it. He stepped into the grove proper, approaching Max openly. One way or another, he wasn't leaving without him.
"Max."
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"Who are you? What do you want?"
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"It's me. Qubit," he said. "Put that down. I'm not here to hurt you."
Any more than I already have, came a thought, unbidden.
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Norman and Max - Post Pan Plot
The closest he could remember was back home, when Dr. Zygote had the balls to try and invade his head and attack him from the inside out — and Max had fought that off no problem. He'd known his friends would never betray him, he had no problem taking control of his own consciousness and giving that freak what he deserved. But this...
How could he depend on his own memories when someone had straight-up changed them? How was he supposed to believe in himself when suddenly he couldn't?
The whole fiasco still had Max feeling completely off his game until finally he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to just... talk about it. One night, Max shakily knocked on Norman's door, already sorry to have woken his guardian at such a ridiculous hour.
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But at least he tried.
"Mighty One?" Here, Norman barely manages to stifle a yawn. "Need something?"
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"Normie," he says quietly, "would I still be the Mighty One if I ever, you know... stopped being me?"
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"Hmmm... What do you mean?" It's not that his mind is cloudy from sleep as much as he's unsure of the question. How could Max ever stop being himself?
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Max grasps at the air, clenching his fists as he tries to figure out what had driven his cursed self to be what he was.
"I was so angry. I was so hurt and I was suffering and I just... I wanted to make other people suffer, too. I wanted to hurt people. I thought it might be funny." God, he felt sick at the thought. Max's brows knotted, and he couldn't look Norman in the eye, instead choosing to stare at the floor.
"I mean, you wouldn't... nobody would make you protect someone like that, right?"
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A
Re: A
Yeah, that fear isn't going away anytime soon. But, you know... even in stressful times like this, we oughta at least take a little time to celebrate that they're back safe. Might be the only break we get until the next blow.
A
Well...we could always find some festive balloons and fire crackers and get people in a better mood that way.
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That was probably sarcasm, but that doesn't make it a bad idea.
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So, who are you anyway?
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DEPROGRAMMING - Feb 23 - Riku's House - open to Norman, Riku, and Sabriel.
The seminar really had done wonders for his mental and emotional state. Thoughts of his old life, that time in his life where he'd been so... well, it didn't matter anymore. The things he'd lost were all in the past, and he needed to focus on a brighter tomorrow.
Max was especially happy that Norman had come along. He'd been afraid that with all the friends who'd grown distant during the Seminar, who'd been too stubborn to accept the truths that had been made so clear, he'd somehow lose Norman in that mix. But in the end, his Guardian was by his side, even for something as mundane as going to help a friend.
He turned his head, smiling up at Norman as they approached Riku's house, not a trace of his earlier hesitation in his expression. "I'm surprised you wanted to come along for this. Happy, but surprised."
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A friend who'll bring him back because Norman himself doesn't know how to.
He manages a small chuckle at Max's remark. "I'm happy too. Things have been busy, and we haven't spent as much time together recently." Which is kinda-sorta true, given the Seminar?
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"Yeah, well, that'll change. We've got a bright future ahead of us here. I know it." As Max steps up to the door and knocks, he adds, "I feel like things are really going right now."
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The dog moves in circles around both of them, tail wagging furiously. "Sorry, he likes it when people come over." Which is kind of an understatement. Riku steps aside so the pair can enter, clicking his tongue at the dog at the same time. Shiro's head snaps up at the sound and he's back in the house without delay, plopped in front of his master on the doormat. Riku shuts the door behind his visitors, then ruffles the dog's ears again. Praised, Shiro knows his job is over and so he gets back up to sniff at the new people.
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"It's fine, thanks." He motions the Mighty One in first before following him before the door is shut behind them. While he feels like playing with the dog, he knows they're here on business—but it doesn't have to feel that way, right? So he turns to Riku, "What's his name? Can I pet him?"
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